


My Hands Are Clean

by SilverLinings



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Depression, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:59:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4430930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverLinings/pseuds/SilverLinings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke leaves and Bellamy is okay, he swears he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Hands Are Clean

Clarke leaned forward and pressed her lips against Bellamy’s cheek for what would be the first and last time. Bellamy’s eyes fell shut, squeezing together in an effort to concentrate, to memorize the feeling of her soft kiss, the way her hand gripped lightly to his arm, everything about the moment. She spoke softly in his ear.

“May we meet again.”

She hugged him tight, her nose nudging against his shoulders and if he could, Bellamy would have hugged her with all his might, but he couldn’t. He was stunned, mind reeling as he tried to process what was going to happen. Clarke pulled away and looked at him a final time and turned and walked away, not once looking back at Bellamy.

Bellamy felt his throat constrict, felt his chest clench painfully and his cheek momentarily wet. But he couldn’t function, couldn’t think, couldn’t move. He wanted to desperately call out to her, beg her to stay.  _“Clarke,”_  he would yell,  _“come back to me, stay with me,”_  but he doesn’t. Instead, he whispered back to her although she is beyond hearing it.

“May we meet again.”

* * *

Bellamy sat outside of the gates for the rest of the day. He first watched Clarke disappear into the trees, staring at the spot where he lost her blonde hair. He waited for hours on end, expecting, hoping that she would change her mind. A breeze would flow by and the bushes at the trees edge would rustle and Bellamy would jump to his feet, cupping his hands around his mouth and yelling her name, lips curled into a half smile, waiting to see her returning smile. Unfortunately, it was only the wind and Clarke never appeared.

The sky was dark and Bellamy could no longer make out where the trees met the open grass and he sat there anyway, fearing that if he went inside the camp gates that when Clarke returned she wouldn’t see him waiting and would be discouraged.

Octavia came out when the sun began to rise and rested a hand against her brothers shoulder.

“Bell, come inside and get some rest. I’m sure she’ll be back soon.” Octavia knew when Bellamy looked up at her that he believed her, or was convincing himself of that. She felt guilty of using that to bribe him inside, knew that deep down Clarke wouldn’t return. But for her brothers sake she nodded her head, going along with his barely coherent mumbling about how she needed him or how he needed her.

“She can’t leave me, O, she needs me. She - I need her.” Octavia had never seen her brother so broken before.

* * *

Bellamy lay in his designated area, blankets bunched around him and keeping him warm. Any other night he would have rolled over and burrowed into the soft fleece of his blanket, would have been content to sleep but he wasn’t.

He stared at the ceiling, wondering if Clarke was back, if she saw him leave his spot, if she would return even though he wasn’t there. His mind reeled again and again,  _always Clarke, always._

* * *

That night Bellamy sat in front of the fire, staring at it and feeling his lack of sleep wearing down his body. He felt numb, his mind empty for once but not in a pleasant way. He was sluggish and his eyes burned and his head hurt but he couldn’t sleep. He had to be there when Clarke was home.

Octavia found him hours later, slumped over the log by the fire. She brought a blanket out and covered him with it, whispering goodnight to him. She paused for a moment, letting her eyes fall shut as she rested a palm against his back. She prayed silently to a God that didn’t exist to her anymore for her brother to forget, to move on, she prayed to anyone who would listen.

Octavia stood up and tossed her hair back over her shoulder, wiping away the stray tear that would give her away. Her face was back to the stoic expressionless mask as before.

* * *

Bellamy sat by the fire every night. He was slowly accepting the fact that if Clarke were to return she’d have done it. He hated himself for giving up, but he had no choice. Even so, he sat in front of the fire night after night, going to sleep at the first light and waking with everyone else hours later. Octavia had complained about his sleeping habits, pleading with him that it wasn’t good for him, that it was an unnecessary waste to his health but he waved it off.

“Its okay, I wasn’t tired anyway,” he rasped.

She stopped mentioning it.

But night after night, Octavia watched the circles under her brothers eyes grow, watched his shoulders slump from exhaustion. Octavia watched as her brother lost his concentration. Middle of conversations his eyes would droop and he’d look back up and ask her to repeat herself. She had no idea on how to help.

* * *

Bellamy lived up to his promise. He led the people. It was shaky at first, Abby giving the same chancellor speech that she had given to Clarke but Bellamy didn’t care. All of the remaining 100 would follow Bellamy sooner than Abby. He struggled for a long time to get the adults trust, he did it though. It took him weeks, more pressure on himself than necessary but he did it.

Eventually it got easier, people listened to him, respected him, never once doubted him. He smiled for them and things were fine, things were great but every night Bellamy would crawl to his bed and curl in on himself, his fingers tangling in his hair and a broken sob would escape his throat.

* * *

Octavia awoke one morning to find Bellamy sitting in front of the ashes of last nights fire, his shoulders hunched and his face a weary mess of sadness and exhaustion. She helped him up and guided him to his bed. For which, he thanked her and promised to get some rest. He slept for a good twenty minutes before the beginnings of a nightmare jerked him awake.

From then on Bellamy had tried to force himself to sleep, laying in his bed and squeezing his eyes shut, his body shaking although three blankets lay on top of him. He shook out of fear.

Bellamy was terrified of sleep. He had two dreams that would replay in his head.

The first was the last moment with Clarke. He watched her turn and leave over and over, his throat closed in on itself each and every time, leaving him powerless to stop her. If he moved his feet would sink into mud, slowing him down. He would trip and fall, looking up at Clarke as she left him, her face emotionless and without care that he struggled on the ground, to call for her, to move,  _to breathe._

The second dream was Bellamy in the woods. He would round a tree and see a streak of blonde. Getting closer and closer each time he stepped forward. The only problem was that when he was within an arms distance she would disappear. Bellamy’s stomach would flip with panic and he’d take off running. Running every time to the meadow that lay ahead. It was a beautiful meadow, white wild flowers scattered across the grass, a dull sunlight streaming down and making things seem pale yellow, something that reminded Bellamy of romance. He would step forward, cautious not to startle Clarke who sat in the middle of the meadow, her hair flowing in the wind. When he stood in front of her he would stare down at her, the horrified expression of terror and pain on her face every time. Claw marks scattered her chest, leaving her shirt in tears, her throat ripped apart and blood dripping down her body. The faint growl of an animal in the distance but all Bellamy could see or feel was the blood on his chin and hands. His mind would eventually piece together that the growl wasn’t in the distance, it was him. He was the only monster around.

That dream was the one that left Bellamy talking in his sleep, tossing and turning, scratching at his hands as if he were scraping blood off.

Octavia would wake him gently from those terrors, gently placing his head in her lap, rocking him, running her fingers through his hair and whispering quietly in the sweetest voice she could. Repeating childhood sayings that he used to say to her before she left to crawl into the ground. Bellamy would come to, his eyes wide and tearful, still seeing Clarke. They would slowly clear, the dream fading to an unpleasant memory and finally seeing his sister above him. He would turn into her and sob, his whole body shaking. Miraculously, he remained quiet. Only breaking down in such a way in the presence of his sister. Everyone else at camp saw his smiles and believed him, saw the happy façade and rolled with it.

One morning she rocked him awake, the panic setting in his bones. He calmed eventually. Bellamy choked on his sobs, he’s chest hurting and his head and he was so,  _so,_  damn tired. He clutched at his sisters shirt, burying his face in the material.

“It hurts so much, Octavia. It hurts so goddamn much.”

She spent the next months pondering over if he had meant being tortured by the mountain men, pulling the lever, or Clarke leaving him. She eventually realized the first two were hurting him but greatly insignificant in the current predicament. Clarke was the only thing torturing her brother now.

* * *

As the months rolled by Bellamy patched up the holes on the outside. He perfected his smile, a foolproof smile now that could convince anyone he was happy. He stitched himself together in every vital place, leaving the rest undone to rot from the inside out. Octavia watched him torture himself over Clarke leaving. She confronted him about it one time, telling him he needed to quit worrying, there was nothing he could have done. She had tried to sound forceful, putting an air of dominance in her words to get the message through to her brother. In return, he backed her against the ark, jabbing his finger into her chest.

“Shut the hell up. You weren’t there. I could have stopped her, I could have protected her. Now I - I don’t even know if she’s alive.” Bellamy’s anger dissolved as he spoke for the first time about Clarke’s possible death.

He didn’t speak to Octavia for the rest of the day, but he welcomed her with open arms the next morning as he choked over yet another dream of his own self murdering Clarke.

* * *

It had been a little over a year when the trees rustled again, a figure stood at the edge staring up at the camp she used to call home. Clarke had thought for so long about if she should return, if they needed her, if she wanted to go back. She could very well see they didn’t need her, things weren’t chaos but did she need them? That answer seemed to be growing into a yes, evolving more into needing Bellamy specifically.

She had spent far too many nights lying awake wondering what Bellamy was doing, if he ached for her in the way that she ached for him.

The trees still hid her from sight though she doubted they’d recognize her. She was something of a mess, her blonde hair now brown and her clothes torn and muddy.

Clarke took a deep breath and stepped forward, cautious now that she was in plain sight. She could still back out now, could leave and never come back. But she took another step forward.  _Bellamy_ , her mind screamed at her,  _Bellamy_. And that was her only thought as she walked up to Camp Jaha, the guards drawing guns as she got closer. They yelled at her to stop but she couldn’t hear them properly. She stood in front of the guards, one of the guns close enough to touch her chest but she wasn’t intimidated. The guards got shoved out of the way and Bellamy trotted up to her, his own gun in his hand as he demanded she state her name and business. Clarke stared at him for a moment, her eyes welling up and tears spilling over. Her throat was sticky from the lack of use and she almost couldn’t even form the words.

“It’s me,” she said finally, wiping at a tear and dragging away some of the hardened dirt. “It’s me, Clarke.”

Clarke watched Bellamy’s face drop, his gun crashing to the floor. Everyone around them had dumbfounded faces, not sure if it was really her, her alive? Bellamy stepped forward and pulled Clarke into a hug, crushing her and squeezing the air from her lungs but she didn’t complain, wouldn’t complain even if Bellamy killed her right at that moment. She was home. Here in Bellamy’s arms, she was home.

Her mother took her to get a shower and some clean clothes, kissing the top of her head at every moment she could, whispering about how much she missed her baby girl. Clarke nodded woodenly, her mind still focused on Bellamy, wondering where he was at all times.

She stepped out of the shower and toweled off, pulling her clean clothes on and feeling strange being so clean after so long. She looked up to find Octavia standing there, arms folded over her chest and a look that screamed death on her face.

“Wh-what?” Clarke finally asked, braiding her hair back and looking into the mirror for a moment at the girl from a year ago.

“What are you doing here?” Octavia finally asked, her tone was clipped and harsh and spoke the same truth her face did. It seemed Clarke wasn’t welcomed back by everyone.

“This is my home, Octavia, whether or not I left doesn’t change the fact that I belong here.” Octavia only scoffed, shaking her head as she looked up to the ceiling.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming back after all that you’ve done,” Octavia started, looking down to the ground and biting at her lip, thinking of the impossible months she spent trying to get her brother back to his old self. “Bellamy, he needed you most and you left him. I’ve picked up the pieces, Clarke, not you. You don’t get to come back and mess him up again!” Octavia was crying against her will. She was mad at herself that she’d spent a year trying to get her brother to be whole again, a whole year of holding him while he cried out for someone who left him. Even then he never truly smiled, the fake bullshit that everyone else bought. Then Clarke is back for a day and Bellamy seems lighter, his smile genuine, like the past year of hell was erased by one face. Octavia had never wanted to kill anyone more than Clarke in that moment.

Clarke was at a loss for words, wondering if anything she could say could calm Octavia. But instead Octavia stepped forward and pulled Clarke into a hug, holding her tight.

“Please, please, don’t do that again. I can’t see him go back to that,” Octavia finally whispered.

Clarke nodded, hesitantly hugging Octavia back.

* * *

Clarke stood just outside of the ark, staring over at the fire pit. Bellamy sat there with his hands splayed out, unmoving but his breathing heavy, if the rise and fall of his shoulders was anything to go by. She walked over and took a seat next to him, both of them sitting in silence, neither daring to look at the other. Bellamy didn’t have to look to know who was sitting with him.

“I dreamed that I killed you,” he began and stopped when he saw, or felt, Clarke wince. She didn’t say anything, continued to look forward at the fire that was slowly falling in front of her. “Sometimes when I’m awake I can still feel and see the blood on my hands, taste it in my mouth.” Bellamy didn’t know where he was going with his confession but it left his chest feeling lighter and for the first time in a year he felt like he could breathe. Clarke continued to stare at the fire, feeling like her words meant nothing anymore. He looked over at her, reaching a hand up and brushing his thumb along her jaw carefully. She took in a shaky breath and looked towards her lap.

“Smearing blood along my face?” She asked hesitantly, desperate to lean into the touch, to him, to grab him close and touch every part of him that she’d missed for far too long. Bellamy didn’t laugh.

“No, my hands are clean now,” he finally said. Clarke didn’t ask what he meant.

But Bellamy knew. Bellamy knew that Clarke was alive and his hands were clean, only for the reason that she was alive. Every doubt he had about letting her walk away, about not running after her and searching for her were erased, all because she sat here next to him. Real and alive, breathing and in the flesh. He could touch her without being asleep, without the nightmares to taint her fair skin.

But all Clarke knew was that Bellamy’s hands were once again clean. 

**Author's Note:**

> Lemme know ur thoughts pls and thank


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